Hold My Hand
by b0redrand0m
Summary: The idea was crazy, who would dare try to hold Miranda Priestly's hand?


Andrea spent ten minutes watching Miranda watch Paris. They were on their way to a restaurant for a meeting with a new designer. Andrea could see her boss was extremely stressed out. Who wouldn't be, after receiving divorce papers and fighting to keep her dream while crushing another's. Miranda's entire body spoke of her anxiety. The tilt of her head, the arc of her back, even the corners of her eyes and lips spoke of her internal whirlwind.

Andrea realized Miranda did not have one of her headaches yet, but it was only a matter of time, if Miranda's body stayed so tightly wound. She had pills and Pellegrino in her bag, just in case.

Andrea knew there are no words for what Miranda was experiencing. Last night, she tried asking if there was anything she could do for the woman and was brushed off. During her hiatus (after the luncheon), Andrea realized there was so much more she wanted to do; things that fell outside of her jurisdiction as assistant. In this moment there was only one thing she wanted to do, only one thing she could think of. But the idea was crazy. Who would dare try to hold Miranda Priestly's hand?

Another five minutes went past and the car was now stuck in traffic. Paris was really no better than New York when it came to these things and Miranda's already thin patience was beginning to completely disappear. Andrea figured what she wanted to do couldn't be any worse than skipping out on her job for an hour, and made her decision.

Andrea shifted herself, as quietly as she could against the backseat, but Miranda caught the movement and turned her head to her assistant. The space between them was now shorter than arm's length and Miranda's eyebrow had climbed over her forehead in the silent question of explain-yourself.

Andrea looked directly into Miranda's blue eyes searching for anger, defensiveness, anything that would tell her to stop. Anything outside of her own racing heartbeat (which was telling her to do the exact opposite of stop). When she found nothing but curiosity and astonishment, she removed her hand from her lap, not slowly enough to allow Miranda to react, but not fast enough to be a threat, and slid it towards Miranda.

Miranda's eyes shot to Andrea's moving hand, then to her own; which was resting next to her leg, still and slightly stiff, but less so than the rest of her body. Miranda had to know what Andrea planned on doing, because her eyes snapped back to the brown eyes that were staring at her as if she were the only person in the world.

Miranda's head had titled to the right, causing one stand of white hair to slide in front of her left eye, but Andrea could still, clearly, see the woman's challenge of you-won't-dare.

But Andrea's movement never stopped and she did dare. Andrea's eyes slid closed at the first contact, as her fingertips moved underneath Miranda's palm. The first thing Andrea noticed was the warmth that flowed over her skin. The second thing she noticed was the smooth softness that made up Miranda's palm.

As her fingertips moved beyond Miranda's palm, she made them line up with hand above her's; pinky against pinky, thumb against thumb. Andrea's eyes had opened and found a sea of blue, dark with specks of grey she had never noticed before. Miranda appeared to be holding her breath and there was a pink tint to her cheeks, something else Andrea had never seen before.

Then Andrea understood. Everything she now realized she wanted, Miranda, in her own way, was offering. She could see it so clearly swimming in those blue eyes. She caught a glimpse of it every morning; every time she provided for Miranda what the editor had yet to realize she needed; every time the woman invited her into an elevator, or demanded she spend time with the twins doing their homework. It had always been there, almost perfectly hidden.

And Miranda was offering it again. This time as loudly as Andrea was asking for it. Andrea slid her palm upwards, towards the front of the car, ever so slightly, before sliding her fingers to the side, causing Miranda's to slip a bit into the new space under them.

Miranda still had not moved, but her breathing had slowed, eyebrow still raised, eyes still asking. This time Andrea answered her, in the best way she could think of: a smile. The smile wasn't one of her biggest or brightest, but it was one of her truest. Miranda accepted it and began pushing her fingers ever so slowly through Andrea's, their fingers now side by side.

Andrea's smile widened as they pushed into each other, removing the space between them. Andrea gasped at the gentle pressure she felt as Miranda wrapped her fingers around her own hand. Their palms now locked together, their eye contact never wavered.

Miranda sighed and squeezed. The new shade of red gracing her cheeks was nothing compared to the blush that covered Andrea's cheeks and neck.

Andrea's thumb had begun moving, gently, over Miranda's skin, back and forth, in the tiniest of circles, she watched Miranda's eyes and tried to convey everything floating in her mind and said, "Always."

A few seconds later a genuine, albeit small, smile graced Miranda's lips before she tipped her head in a nod and returned her sights to the world outside. Traffic started moving again and Andrea tried not to deflate with the understanding that they would arrive soon.

Instead, she focused on the woman next to her. Miranda was beginning to relax; it started with her arms and back and spread to her neck and head. Andrea watched in wonder, relaxing into the silence that spread over them and memorized the feel of Miranda's hand in her's and the patterns she was drawing with her thumb.

THE END


End file.
